West Warwick: Town Tries To Come To Terms With Loss

WEST WARWICK, R.I. — The hardest part wasn't facing the flames and the smoke and the gusts of searing heat.

Fire Chief Charles Hall knew his crew could handle that.

``This is what we do,'' he said Saturday, standing inside the main firehouse surrounded by his department's muscular apparatus. ``This is our job.''

But pulling the charred bodies of your friends and neighbors from the ruins of a popular local nightspot?

``Nothing,'' Hall said, ``prepares you for that.''

The heartrending repercussions of Thursday night's fire at The Station nightclub have profoundly shaken this tight little community a few miles southwest of Providence. From the firehouse to the bars, the coffee shops to the drugstores, people struggled to come to terms with the staggering death toll -- 96 dead and more than 180 injured.

West Warwick has endured its share of booms and busts. Once a thriving factory town, the community of 30,000 along the banks of the Pawtuxet River now an odd mix of vacant mills and suburban-style strip malls. Downtown has a smattering of vacant storefronts, interspersed with family-style restaurants and businesses such as the Forbidden Flesh tattoo parlor and Tan-Tastic tanning salon.

But even for this scrappy survivor of a town, this week's tragedy is almost too much to bear.

Club co-owner Jeffrey Derderian could barely contain his emotions Saturday. ``This tragedy has claimed the lives of our friends,'' he said before breaking down, ``people who are husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters.''

At the American Legion club just off Main Street, they finally turned off the TV news just after lunch. The patrons gathered around the bar couldn't endure watching another clip from the infamous video showing the nightclub disappear behind a wall of smoke and flames.

``I've been crying for two days,'' said Mary Mirto, eyes red and voice raspy. Mirto, who is 38 and has lived in the area all her life, lost two friends in the inferno. A third friend is in critical condition in a Massachusetts hospital. ``She lost the side of her face,'' Mirto said.

Mirto herself had planned to attend the show at The Station Thursday night, but her car wouldn't start, so she decided to stay home. ``I walked into a bar last night and people said `Mary, thank God you're here,''' she said.

The Station was a popular hangout for Mirto and her crowd. They would gather at the club on Cowesett Avenue for a couple of beers and a few rounds of darts, occasionally catching a live band or two.

``It was cool and now it's gone,'' she said, taking another long drag on her cigarette.

Two housekeepers from the Fairfield Inn in nearby Warwick went to the show. Jackie Bernard made it out; Tina Ayers, a 33-year-old single mother of two, is missing.

The members of the '80s heavy metal band, Great White, Thursday night's headliners, were staying at the hotel and, as a gesture of gratitude to the staff, left a thick stack of free tickets with Manager Carlos Cerda. Bernard and Ayers were the only ones to accept the offer.

``We're just sitting here, waiting, hoping,'' Cerda said.

And so it went throughout the state. Outsiders know Rhode Island by its cliches: mobsters and corrupt mayors, clamcakes and cabinets, beautiful beaches and Newport bluebloods. But in truth, this is a profoundly close-knit state, and many people knew someone who was inside the club Thursday night. Even those not personally touched by the tragedy felt its sting.

``The people of Rhode Island have done a phenomenal job,'' said Gov. Donald Carcieri. ``The outpouring of love and support has been a marvel to behold.''

At a makeshift memorial next to the nightclub, passersby deposited bouquets and stuffed animals. Across the street at a restaurant and banquet hall, motorists driving by saw the following message: ``May God bless all victims and their families.'' Traffic was heavy throughout the day, as many Rhode Islanders felt compelled to make a pilgrimage to the site and witness the destruction.

They came, too, to the firehouse, bearing pizzas, heaping trays of macaroni, pots of pasta e fagiol and cases and cases of soda. Capt. Russell McGillivray said he's never seen such an outpouring.

But then again, he's never seen so much heartbreak. In 1995, a family of four along with an overnight guest perished in a house fire sparked by an overloaded circuit. ``We thought that was as bad as it could get,'' McGillivray said, shaking his head.

For the past two days, many firefighters have been replaying the scene at The Station in their heads, asking if they could have done more. As it was, they managed to pull more than 100 people from the inferno.

``They have to try and focus on [those] 100-plus people who are alive today because of their efforts,'' Chief Hall said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Grief counselors spent the day at the firehouse, talking to anyone who wanted to talk.

For Hall, the devastating reality of Thursday night's fire didn't hit until Saturday morning. He took a phone call from a friend who lost a son, and that's when he felt his emotional equilibrium topple.